


Almost Naked

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Because I wanted to know if I could, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, John Watson Has a Large Cock, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Nosy Sherlock, Sherlock finds them, Size Kink, Virgin Sherlock, and becomes obsessed, and wears Andrew Christian undies, caught masturbating, swapping pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-11 04:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12927873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: John smiled, walking confidently but slowly towards Sherlock's position across the room. Sherlock tracked his every step, swallowing audibly as he watched John practically stalking towards him.“I said...” John said deeply, “Do you know how long I've lusted over you?” John reached Sherlock's side, looking up at his friend before raising an eyebrow, “You dickhead.”“But you're not gay,” Sherlock mumbled in confusion, his eyes flicking across John's face looking for deception or a clue that this was a cruel trick.“And you're married to your work,” John answered, trailing a hand down Sherlock's long, sweaty torso only to bump against the plush cushion against Sherlock's groin.“John...” Sherlock moaned, his pupils swallowing the colour and his tongue flicking out to lick his lips, “I don't want this to ruin us...”“Sherlock,” John smiled, moving his hand to cup Sherlock's cheek gently and tenderly which made Sherlock's stomach flip, “We've practically been shagging this entire time. You wanking over me, and me wanking over you. We just haven't been intelligent enough to do it in the same room.”





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Goddess_of_the_Night](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess_of_the_Night/gifts).



> Goddess of the night asked me to write something with big cock John and Sherlock becoming obsessed. Gem_Gem helped me with the start and then this happened...
> 
> Goddess also beta'd her own gift. Because she's too nice to say no.
> 
> The pants I'm thinking of are these ones [Pants](https://www.andrewchristian.com/almost-naked-retro-brief-90379.html)
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always loved

Sherlock all but kicked the bedroom door down as he scrambled inside, itching, desperate, and mad for a fag. The cravings had gotten worse over the last several days. Ten days. Ten days without a case, without even a _ trace _ of one. Nothing on the website. Nothing from Lestrade. Nothing in the bloody news.   
  
John's room was the last place that the cigarettes could be hidden. Sherlock had already ripped apart the living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom, which only left John's bedroom. Technically, John had enforced a strict no-entry policy on his bedroom – due to a previous experiment in which John had awoken to find Sherlock watching him complete with clipboard. John had been furious and ranted at Sherlock about his need for privacy and personal space, but Sherlock had zoned out and seemingly ignored everything he said.   
  
Disregarding the policy entirely, Sherlock marched into the bedroom and started at the bedside table, rolling his eyes at the two boxes of open condoms and a half empty bottle of lube. John was incredibly pedestrian in his sexual habits and Sherlock had never considered that John's sex life was anything but vanilla and mundane – something which the contents of his bedside table confirmed.    
  
Seeing that the cigarettes weren't in the drawer, Sherlock slammed it closed and continued through the others, pulling out books and letters to look through before ripping the drawer out of the frame to turn upside down, slapping the bottom to ensure they weren't taped to the wood.   
  
“Bloody hell,” Sherlock grumbled, scratching the back of his neck before heading to John's chest of drawers. Starting at the top, Sherlock opened up his flatmate’s underpants drawer and rummaged through the various fabrics, ignoring them completely until his fingers slid against some soft elastic. Frowning slightly, Sherlock pulled the pants out and looked at them in surprise. This particular make of underwear specialised in those men who were 'blessed' in the genital department and who needed extra support to hide their bulge in their usual clothes. Sherlock felt his cheeks heat up and turn pink as he turned the briefs around in his hands, looking at them from every angle and then heading up to his Mind Palace to evaluate his new findings.   
  
Sherlock had always assumed that John was well-endowed. Not that he thought of it a lot – it was just an abstract deduction he had made on their first meeting. The way John held himself, the way he walked and stood showed Sherlock that it was highly likely that John was a big boy, but Sherlock had stored the information away and not thought about it.   
  
Until now.   
  
Returning from his mind palace, Sherlock licked his dry lips and – without thinking – pushed the pants into his pocket before closing the drawers. The hunt for cigarettes was forgotten as Sherlock headed back out of the room.    
  


* * *

  
“I'm going to murder you,” John said as he walked down the stairs after changing. His day at work had been dull and annoyingly filled with moaning old ladies, and he had been excited to get home only to find his bedroom ransacked by his arsehole of a flatmate.   
  
“I wish you would,” Sherlock grumbled from his place on the sofa. The detective lay on his back, his eyes closed and his fingers touching his chin, he had been in his mind palace but had been startled back to reality by John's thumping and loud complaints from his room, “Living is extremely tedious.”   
  
“Don't tempt me,” John grumbled under his breath and headed to make tea, his bare feet slapping against the kitchen lino as he moved, “Why were you in there anyway?”   
  
“Cigarettes,” Sherlock answered, “You hid them.”   
  
“Nope,” John laughed, “I didn't. They're in the cupboard, behind the pasta where  _ you  _ left them.”   
  
“Why would I hide them?” Sherlock scoffed, “That seems pointless.”   
  
“You said it would be a good mystery,” John hummed, “then you deleted all knowledge and told me not to tell you.”   
  
“Well you failed,” Sherlock complained, feeling silly at hiding them from himself and not being clever enough to work out his own thought patterns.   
  
“Yeah, well, we talked about this. My room is off limits,” John insisted, “I'm not kidding. I don't get much privacy in this flat, I like to have my own space.”   
  
“You have as much privacy as you need,” Sherlock scoffed again, rolling his eyes, “You're being dramatic”   
  
“Am I?” John arched an eyebrow.   
  


* * *

  
Sherlock couldn't fight the urge any longer – he was alone in his bedroom, surrounded by the semi-darkness with only a small lamp illuminating his nakedness as he reached under his pillow and took out the hidden underwear of John's. He knew that this was not good and John would feel that it was an incredible violation of his privacy, especially if he knew that Sherlock was incredibly aroused by the idea of John's sizeable cock being squashed into the fabric pouch which was currently being stroked between his long fingers.   
  
Sherlock's swollen cock gave a throb and he reached down to stroke it, giving it a long squeeze to sate himself as he used his imagination. He thought of John naked except the pants, which clung to his body perfectly, cupping his genitals and resting delicately against his waist as John flexed and moved, his cock moving inside the fabric of his underwear.   
  
Feeling heat building between his legs, Sherlock stroked himself rhythmically, his hips raising to meet his fist as he bucked into the tight grip around the tip of his cock, feeling the wetness spreading across his skin as he began to leak plentifully.   
  
In Sherlock's mind, John was bending now, practising his fighting skills, or perhaps doing push ups which allowed his cock to hang low, still flaccid but large enough to be seen as a thick bulge.    
  
Sherlock's mind swam as pleasure ricocheted through his veins. He didn't indulge in this type of pleasure very often – usually only when his transport was becoming insistent – but he found he couldn't stop himself as he thrust into his fist. Without thinking, Sherlock raised the pants to his face and placed them across his nose, inhaling the clean, fresh scent of their fabric softener.    
  
“Oh God,” Sherlock moaned, biting his lip as his body clenched tightly with orgasmic delight. Sherlock could only bite harder to stop the scream of pleasure as he came hard, covering his stomach and chest with thick stripes of white.


	2. Returning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another shortish chapter. I'm not sure if the swapping of POV's works or not, but it was something I wanted to try out.

John hummed as he brushed his teeth, fussing with his shower wet hair in the mirror as he continued his morning rituals. He was expected in at the clinic later in the day, which allowed him to have an extra long shower and not worry about having to rush for the tube.   
  
Spitting out the foam, John rinsed his mouth and then turned to reach for his underwear. He didn't usually spend much money on his clothing, normally shopping on the high street for good deals, but he had found that he needed to spend a little bit extra on his briefs due to his need for extra support which local shops didn't stock. His designer underwear helped to keep his (not so) 'little John' tucked away and hidden, which helped John feel less self-conscious that people could see the outline of his bulge against his trousers.   
  
Stepping into his underwear, John took the towel and put it over his head to dry his damp hair, feeling a gust of cool air against his skin which made him jump and turn around, his towel covering his crotch as he stared angrily at Sherlock who stood in the doorway between his room and the bathroom.   
  
“What are you doing?” John hissed, frowning at Sherlock “I'm busy. You heard me in here.”   
  
“I need to pee,” Sherlock answered, but his voice was slightly shaky, his eyes fixed on the slither of skin and underwear he could see at John's side.   
  
“Well, I'm nearly done now,” John said, grabbing his robe and covering himself quickly before gesturing to Sherlock, “It's all yours.”   
  
“T-Thanks,” Sherlock nodded, clearing his throat and taking a shaky step into the bathroom. John frowned at the weird reaction before leaving the room, much to Sherlock's relief as he freed his leaking erection and aimed at the toilet.   


* * *

John rummaged through his underwear drawer with a frown and a curse. If he didn't know better, he would think that someone had been stealing his pouch-style pants as he couldn't seem to find any of the pairs he owned. Pulling out a pair of regular boxers, John huffed and turned, looking under his bed to check to see if he had kicked any underneath but finding none. Wrapping his robe around himself, John headed downstairs and into the laundry hamper, where he found two pairs.    
  
“Sherlock?” John cried out, watching as Sherlock turned his head from his chair to look at him, “Has Mrs. Hudson accidentally given you any of my underwear? I seem to be low on them.”   
  
“Hmm?” Sherlock responded, lifting the paper to hide his face, and the tell-tale blush across his cheeks as he tried to hide the lie, “No. I haven't seen them.”   
  
“Where can they be?” John huffed, shaking his head before shrugging and rushing downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's flat.    
  
Sherlock could hear the pair talking, and then John returning back upstairs, “No, she hasn't done any laundry. It's a mystery. I might write you an email asking you to take the case,” he joked, “Sherlock Holmes, please help me find my pants.”   
  
“It'll cost you,” Sherlock replied, “and I won't take it. It sounds boring.”   
  
“Suppose so,” John hummed before shaking his head, “Anyway, I'm off out to meet Mike for a coffee. He thinks his wife is having an affair.”   
  
“No,” Sherlock shook his head, “she's bought him a new car. For his birthday…a convertible. She's trying to hide it.”   
  
“How do you – you know what? Never mind. I'll be home later,” John laughed, picking up his keys and wallet before heading to the front door, “Please, no explosions.”   
  
“No promises,” Sherlock smirked and gave a jaunty wave as John headed out, listening as the doctor's footsteps got further away and then the closing of the door.   
  
Throwing himself from his chair quickly, Sherlock rushed to his bedroom and lifted his heavy mattress, reaching under to grab the pairs of John's underwear which he had been hoarding. Sherlock knew that it had been risky to keep them - John wasn't an idiot and it wasn't items which John wouldn't notice disappearing - but Sherlock had been so interested in the fantasy that he found it easy to push the worries to one side; especially when his libido was in control.   
  
Noticing that a few pairs were specked with dried semen, Sherlock closed his eyes in defeat before rushing downstairs to the washer and drier which had been stored in 221C. The empty flat allowed them to do numerous loads of washing at odd times of the day or night without interrupting Mrs. Hudson's sleep – always useful when they had plunged into the Thames, or covered themselves in blood, or mud, or any number of other messes. Quickly dumping the underwear into the drum, Sherlock added washing powder and set them for a quick wash before heading back upstairs to wait.   
  
It didn't take long for the spin cycle to stop, and Sherlock had immediately put the pants into the drier to save them being put on the ancient radiators in the flat. Knowing that John wouldn't be back for a few hours gave him a little leeway in order to get them back into John's room without the other man noticing, but he had to use all of his cunning in order to lie to his best friend.    
  
Once the pants were mostly dry, Sherlock took them out of the drier and immediately rushed up the stairs to John's room. Mrs. Hudson shouted something up after him, but he disregarded it as he pushed open John's door and looked around. The lingering smell of John's cologne, body spray, and hair products masked something deeper and more erotic underneath, and Sherlock headed to John's bed, running his hand across the duvet as he realised with a start what it was. John had masturbated in the room at some point in the day.   
  
Sherlock's head spun with the realisation that he could smell John so intimately, and his cock  swelled so quickly that it made him momentarily light headed. Keeping hold of the bedside table, Sherlock cleared his throat and blinked a few times, using his hand to push against his crotch before remembering that he had come in for a purpose. He needed to return the underpants before John became even more suspicious.   
  
Opening John's drawer, Sherlock pushed the underwear inside and then covered the pants with other ones, hiding them from immediate view. John didn't have an underwear index like Sherlock did, so it should be enough for Sherlock to get away with.   
  
Feeling slightly sorry for himself at having to give away his masturbation aids, Sherlock headed towards the door only to stop when he caught a glimpse of fabric. Bending down to have a better look, Sherlock lifted the bundle up and grinned as he recognised them as a pair of John's worn underwear.    
  
Sherlock knew that this was weird – stealing your best friend and flatmates underwear to use for wanking was weird – but he couldn't stop himself as he put the fabric into his pocket and jogged down the stairs to his bedroom, closing the door after him.   



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go on honeymoon tomorrow! So it may take a while to respond to comments but please do let me know what you think.
> 
> I'm going to London, and already threatened my Husband with a whole day of Sherlock fangirling.

John paid the cabbie and winced as he climbed out of the car and pushed open the door to the flat. His trousers were soaked thanks to a small toddler throwing a tantrum and throwing himself into John and Mike's table. The wobble had caused John's coffee to spill and topple onto his lap, scalding his thighs and soaking the fabric of his jeans.   
  
The mother had immediately apologised, looking like she might break down into tears, but John had promised her that he would be okay before he thanked Mike and left for home. He needed a cool shower and possibly an ice pack to stop his bollocks being boiled.   
  
The flat was quiet and Sherlock's bedroom door was closed. Quite unusual for the middle of the day, but John wasn't going to complain if it meant that Sherlock was getting some much needed shut eye. The daft arse didn't sleep enough, and John tried to be as quiet as possible as he walked up the stairs to his room, avoiding the creaky seventh step.   
  
Once in his bedroom, John pulled down his jeans with a wince and a hiss. Thankfully his skin didn't look too bad, maybe a little red but definitely not burned enough to scar or cause much pain after a shower. Pulling down his soaked underwear, too, John walked to his full-sized mirror and checked himself out, lifting the tails of his shirt so he could see his genitals better.   
  
His cock lay flaccid and soft between his thighs, but even flaccid it was an impressive size which John had always been proud of. When he was in the Army, he had been the subject of merciless yet friendly teasing about John “the tripod” Watson. John often had rolled his eyes and simply thrown back that he had never had any complaints – which was true – he was a sensitive and caring lover. His size often meant that women felt uncomfortable being fully penetrated, and as such John had learned to listen to their breathy moans, to watch their body language and facial expressions, which helped him know how deep to go and when to stop.   
  
Looking at the messy thatch of hair, John considered that he would have to give himself another trim. Not that he was currently seeing anybody. John's love life had gone through a bit of a rough patch lately and he was making due with his left hand, who didn't really give a shit about his pubes.

John wanted to blame Sherlock for his lack of sex, he really did, but it wasn't the detective's fault. Well, not entirely. John had known for a few months that he was starting to have confusing feelings for his friend. Often, John had found himself staring at Sherlock and watching him from across the room, following his graceful movements and beautiful features before pushing the thoughts to one side. Sherlock wasn't interested in sex or relationships – he had admitted as much on their first dinner at Angelos, and so John tried to ignore his arousal whenever Sherlock bent in his sinfully tight trousers, or wandered around the flat in nothing but a thin sheet.  
  
Stepping away from the mirror, John pulled open his underwear drawer and moved the top few pairs to one side, frowning with confusion as his hand found one of his pouch-style pairs. Pulling it out, John found another, and another until his hand pulled out his favourite purple pair.   
  
They definitely weren't in the drawer earlier when he had gone looking. In fact, John rubbed his fingers over the fabric and pulled them away with a huff – this pair was still damp.   
  
Pulling on a dry pair of pants, John wrapped his robe around himself before heading back downstairs, purple pants in hand. Without knocking, John opened Sherlock's bedroom door quickly and took a step inside.   
  
“Sherlock…why are my – oh,” John said, stopping abruptly as he looked over at the scene in front of him.   
  
Sherlock was naked on his bed, spread eagle and flushed as one hand worked his cock. The other hand John could hardly see, but the angle of his arm suggested that Sherlock had fingers up his arse, too.    
  
This image was enough to startle John, but it was Sherlock's face which stunned him more – or rather the lack of it. Over Sherlock's face lay the pair of boxer shorts which John had taken off the night before.    
  
“I…er...” John mumbled, his face blushing beetroot red.   
  
“John!” Sherlock shouted, grabbing a pillow and rolling off the bed to stand awkwardly against the back wall, pillow across his privates and face flaming with mortification, “It's not what you think!”   
  
“It looks like you're – yeah, like you're wanking with my pants over your face,” John explained.   
  
“Well…okay…maybe it _ is _ what you think,” Sherlock blushed, looking like he was going to cry.   
  
John immediately fell silent, simply staring at Sherlock before clearing his throat, “So…I er…” he began before looking away, “You've been taking my pants?”

“Is that really the most important topic?” Sherlock asked with a deep frown, looking down at his pillow-covered nakedness and the discarded pants on the bed.

“I just want to understand,” John responded, realising that his own cock was starting to ache. He moved his hand to check that he was still covered by his dressing gown – a motion which was caught by Sherlock.

“I…yes,” Sherlock admitted, “I saw them that night and found that I couldn't stop thinking of them.”

“Of them? The pants?” John asked.

“Of you in them,” Sherlock clarified with another blush, “I wanted to – I like the idea of you in them.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” John sighed, “Do you realise how long I've been lusting over you? You dickhead.”

“What?” Sherlock blinked, seemingly going offline for a long moment before he choked, “I'm sorry. Say that again.”

John smiled, walking confidently but slowly towards Sherlock's position across the room. Sherlock tracked his every step, swallowing audibly as he watched John practically stalking towards him.

“I said...” John said deeply, “Do you know how long I've lusted over you?” John reached Sherlock's side, looking up at his friend before raising an eyebrow, “You dickhead.”

“But you're not gay,” Sherlock mumbled in confusion, his eyes flicking across John's face looking for deception or a clue that this was a cruel trick.

“And you're married to your work,” John answered, trailing a hand down Sherlock's long, sweaty torso only to bump against the plush cushion against Sherlock's groin.

“John...” Sherlock moaned, his pupils swallowing the colour and his tongue flicking out to lick his lips, “I don't want this to ruin us...”

“Sherlock,” John smiled, moving his hand to cup Sherlock's cheek gently and tenderly which made Sherlock's stomach flip, “We've practically been shagging this entire time. You wanking over me, and me wanking over you. We just haven't been intelligent enough to do it in the same room.”

Sherlock chuckled quietly and nodded, “You don't mind about the – the --” he gestured to the bed with another burst of red cheeks.

“No,” John smiled, “Although I’d ask you not to hoard them. I had to run for the tube the other day and thought my thighs would be bruised with the swinging.”

“Oh, Christ,” Sherlock moaned, his legs almost buckling with the mental image of John's enormous prick bouncing with each step.

“Do you want to see it?” John asked, “I’d let you. I’d let you do anything, Sherlock. Anything at all.”

“Can I kiss you?” Sherlock asked immediately, eyes going to John's thin lips with desire.

“I’d be pissed off if you didn't,” John answered, tilting his head so that he could press his lips against Sherlock's gently.

* * *

Sherlock couldn't believe this was happening. John had caught him masturbating whilst sniffing his underwear and he still wanted to be friends with him? More than that, he wanted to be  _ intimate _ with him!

His head spinning, Sherlock tried to focus on the pressure of John's lips against his own, cataloguing each touch and the gentle rasp of stubble against his own sensitive skin. It had been years since Sherlock had been kissed, but he relaxed into it, eventually deepening it by opening his lips with a groan.

John had pulled back with a coy smile and dropped the purple pants still in his hand to the floor before undoing his robe fastening. With one hand, John slipped it from his shoulder before dropping it to the floor as well, unveiling himself to Sherlock entirely with only the small green pouch pants beneath. Sherlock bit his tongue and almost choked on his inhale as he let his eyes scan up and down John's body.

The doctor was fit and toned, his abs showing beneath a tiny paunch of fat across his stomach. Sherlock reached out for his stomach, running his fingers along the trail of hair from John's navel to the waistband of his underwear. Smiling when John's stomach began to judder, Sherlock traced his fingers up to John's nipples before looking at John with a blush.

“I want to have sex with you,” Sherlock said, startling himself by saying it out loud.

John blinked, biting his lip enticingly before taking Sherlock's hand from his chest, “Its…it's not easy. I'm too big. I might hurt you...”

“I can take it,” Sherlock insisted, a smirk across his lips as he looked down at the incredibly tented underwear now on show. He had tried to avoid it at first, mostly because he didn't want to orgasm prematurely once he actually saw the object of his recent fantasies, but now it seemed like he couldn't take his eyes from John's crotch as he licked his lips, “I promise, I can.”

“It takes a lot of prep,” John sighed, smiling at the creeping red blush across Sherlock's cheeks and throat.

“I've already used three fingers,” Sherlock said in a rush, “You can check.”

Growling deep in his throat, John closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, “Jesus, you're going to be the death of me.”

“Good way to go,” Sherlock smirked in reply, suddenly bursting into giggles when John's shoulders began to shake with laughter.

“Are you sure?” John asked, reaching for Sherlock and pulling them closer so the pillow pressed between their bodies and created a lovely friction for both men to rub against with deep groans.

“I've never been more sure,” Sherlock insisted, “John…it's all I think about. All I want.”

“Show me,” John said, his voice low and dark as he looked up at Sherlock with massively dilated pupils, “Show me what I do to you.”

Sherlock swallowed audibly before stepping back slightly, giving enough space to let go of the pillow and to send it falling to the bedroom floor with an audible  _ whoomph _ . Sherlock stood proudly, his flushed torso seemingly endless as John ran his eyes approvingly over the soft, pale skin. Reaching Sherlock's groin, John moaned deeply and licked his lips as he watched Sherlock's cock give an excited throb, a trickle of precome dripping down to the floor.

Sherlock's cock was long and slender, almost crimson at the tip where his foreskin had retracted. John stared for another moment before nodding, “Get on the bed.”

Almost tripping in his haste, Sherlock threw himself to the bed, lying on his back with his legs widened and his shoulders supported by his plush pillows. It was obvious that he was filled with nervousness, but the anticipation seemed to suppress the anxiety as John joined him on the bed, half crawling to kiss Sherlock again, this time deepening it almost immediately to push his tongue into Sherlock's mouth with a filthy groan.

Unwilling to wait anymore, Sherlock scrabbled at the bedsheets until he found the half-full bottle of lube and handed it to John, their lips never leaving one another for a second. Sherlock felt the smirk growing across John's lips as they brushed his own.

“Impatient are we?” John teased, spreading kisses along Sherlock's slender neck.

“John...” Sherlock snapped frustratedly, “I've waited months for this. I've been teased with the view of your rather impressive penis and now I want to see it – and touch it – and have it inside me. So stop delaying!”

“Alright princess!” John scoffed playfully, flicking open the lid of the lubricant and spreading some over his hand. It didn't take long before John was positioned at the bottom of the bed, his dry hand stroking across Sherlock's thigh as his other hand parted Sherlock's cheeks and searched for the small, furled knot hidden between.

Sherlock was hot - almost scorchingly so - and John groaned as he carefully pushed a finger inside Sherlock's body, noticing how easily he slipped inside without resistance. It seemed Sherlock really  _ had _ prepared himself very well.

Adding a second, and then awkwardly a third, took only moments. Sherlock had seemed to be in a completely lost state, his eyes fixed on John with the only noises being his low, deep breathing and the hitched moans which escaped whenever John stretched his fingers apart.

“I'll add another,” John insisted, adding more lube to his hand as he cautiously pushed in his little finger. There was resistance from Sherlock's body, but only for a brief moment before Sherlock began to bear down on the pressure and allow John to slip inside fluidly.

“Oh, Christ,” Sherlock moaned, his hands wadding up the sheets either side of him as he clenched his toes and let his head fall backwards, utterly blissed out with sensation as John finger fucked him slowly and gently.

Brushing against Sherlock's prostate, John watched as Sherlock barked out a loud moan, his back arching and his chest turning a deeper shade of pink. One hand which had been pulling at the sheets moved quickly to wrap around his cock, squeezing and putting pressure on the base tightly as Sherlock slammed his eyes closed.

“Everything okay?” John asked nervously, watching Sherlock's response.

“Shush,” Sherlock ordered, inhaling and exhaling rhythmically, “Don't speak.”

John wasn't exactly sure what to do with his hand, so he stayed still, keeping his hand away from Sherlock's prostate as the detective cooled himself down.

“Unless you want this evening to be ruined by my premature ejaculation, I suggest we hurry this along,” Sherlock said, cheeks flushed a beautiful red, “I'm not sure how long I can hold off.”

“Jesus,” John moaned, pulling his hand from Sherlock's body and wiping it on Sherlock's expensive sheets without a second thought. His own cock was aching intensely and the thought of sheathing himself into Sherlock's body was too tempting to delay any longer, “Condoms?”

“Top drawer,” Sherlock instructed, nodding to his bedside table, frowning when John gave a puzzled look, “John, I've never been sexually active with another person, but I find it much easier to use condoms during masturbation anally due to cleanliness.”

John smiled, nodding in understanding as he looked at the condoms available and then sighing, “None of these will fit. I'll have to go upstairs.”

Sherlock gave a squeak of pleasure and closed his eyes again, once more tightening his hold around his penis, “What did I tell you?! I told you to stop talking! Do you want me to embarrass myself?”

John held up his hands in surrender, but deep down was feeling an intense rush at the thought that his mere words were driving Sherlock so close to orgasm. Climbing from the bed, John stepped up to kiss Sherlock's forehead before running up the stairs to his room to grab a handful of his own larger condoms before returning downstairs and throwing them on the bed as he dived to Sherlock's bottom again.

Reaching for his pants, John was about to pull them off before Sherlock spoke, quietly and almost tentatively, “Would you keep them on? The pants?”

Looking down at his massive erection which strained his underwear, John shrugged and pulled the pouch to one side, fishing his cock out and giving it a few strokes. Sherlock's eyes were immediately drawn to the movement and he moaned as he watched John twist his wrist across the tip, spreading the thick wetness along his shaft which was long enough to need two hands to cover entirely. Suddenly feeling less confident at his ability to take John's cock, Sherlock felt his muscles clench nervously.

“Hey,” John said, obviously noticing Sherlock's reaction, “We don't have to do penetration. At all.”

“Don't be a fool, John,” Sherlock sighed, “I want it…I just…I hadn't realised it would be quite as – large.”

“Just tell me when to stop,” John smiled, stroking a hand up Sherlock's calve, “You don't have to take it all.”

“Get on with it,” Sherlock huffed with a smile, handing John a condom and then reaching for another pillow to put under his hips.

John laughed, shaking his head before ripping open the condom and sliding it down his length in a well-practiced move. Giving himself another few tugs, John shuffled on his knees until he was pressed almost at Sherlock's entrance, which radiated heat unlike anything John had ever known.

Meeting Sherlock's eyes, John watched his reaction as he carefully breached him, pushing the first inch of his cock into Sherlock's body and feeling the thick bands of muscle clench down on him. Sherlock's body was fighting the intrusion, but John stayed still, allowing Sherlock to become accustomed to the feeling, “Okay?” he asked gently, hands resting on Sherlock's knees as he stroked the springy hair back and forth with his thumb.

“Mmm,” Sherlock said with a frown, biting his lip in concentration. Finally managing to calm himself, Sherlock relaxed enough for another few inches to slip inside, filling him and making him cry out with pleasure, the hand not affixed to his cock reaching out for John's hand.

“It's alright,” John soothed, shuffling closer again and making his hips do tiny thrusts, millimetres at a time to get Sherlock used to the sensations.

“S'good,” Sherlock nodded, “God, John. It's good.”

Feeling buoyed by Sherlock's reaction, John continued to gently work his way inside Sherlock, pushing and thrusting and pausing whenever Sherlock's reactions dictated. It was quiet and almost reverent as the two men worked together until finally John was almost completely inside Sherlock with only an inch or so left to go.

“Fucking hell, Sherlock...” John groaned, sweat rising to his forehead, “Sherlock…this is… _ fuck. _ ”

“Quite,” Sherlock smirked, opening an eye and then slamming it closed again at the look of utter pleasure written all over John's face. Thankful for the slight pain of penetration which had softened his cock slightly, Sherlock finally felt that he had control of his body as John began to thrust slow and steady, beginning a rhythm that stole the breath from Sherlock's chest.

Leaning forward, John kissed Sherlock again, keeping it tender and loving as he circled and thrust his hips, knowing he found Sherlock's prostate when the detective keened loudly and moved his hand to cling to John's back, “John!”

“Sherlock,” John moaned in reply, kissing along Sherlock's cheek to nibble and roll the other man's ear lobe against his teeth, “Christ…I'm inside you. We're…making love.”

Their eyes met with surprise at John’s comment, lost in one another and the realisation that they were truly joined in something special.

Hips moving slowly, John stroked across Sherlock's prostate with each thrust, feeling Sherlock tightening with each touch as it got them both closer and closer to their peaks. Moving back to kissing Sherlock, John ran his nose along Sherlock's nose and grinned foolishly, feeling an overwhelming swoop of his heart at the love towards this silly man below him.

“Touch yourself,” John whispered, knowing he wouldn't last much longer with such an intense connection and the pleasurable sensations between them. It was almost too much to handle as he raised himself on his arms and began to thrust harder, deeper, focussing on Sherlock's special spot.

Grunting with pleasure, Sherlock wrapped his hand around his prick and began to stroke rapidly, bringing it back to full, leaking hardness in a matter of seconds – and towards orgasm in a matter of minutes.

“Sherlock…I'm close,” John warned, sweat dripping from his skin to land on Sherlock below.

“Yes…yes, John….yes,” Sherlock chanted, mouth slack with impending climax and eyes fluttering as he pushed himself down against each of John's thrusts, moaning loudly and without care as he got closer and closer. Feeling the swelling sensation starting from his spine and radiating outwards, Sherlock relaxed and allowed himself to fall into the bright, almost painful pleasure sparks which erupted behind his eyes as his cock twitched, throbbed and then pulsed thickly and dramatically between their bodies, soaking Sherlock's skin up to his throat with long trails.

Grunting out a harsh moan, John pushed inside fully and held himself as he came deep into the condom, feeling his cock erupting forcefully. Almost collapsing with the strength of his orgasm, John managed to barely keep himself upright as he trembled and smiled down at Sherlock, kissing him passionately as they enjoyed the shivering aftershocks which wracked their bodies afterwards.

After a few lazy kisses, John couldn't take the ache in his shoulder any more and had to carefully pull himself out of Sherlock, checking the condom for blood before he excused himself and headed to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. Returning to the bedroom with a wet, warm flannel, John tenderly began cleaning Sherlock's stomach before tucking himself back into his pants with a grimace at the leaking of the ejaculate which still trickled from his now softening cock to spread across the green fabric.

Joining Sherlock in bed, John shuffled down the mattress and turned to his side, looking at Sherlock's blissed-out face for a few seconds before Sherlock twisted to look at him. Sherlock seemed softer somehow, less full of edges and sharp words as he reached for John and pushed their foreheads together.

“Sleep,” John whispered, pushing his hand through Sherlock's curls, “I'll stay.”

Nodding lightly, Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed and his breathing began to even out, allowing John to fall into a light doze between him.

“Can I have them?” Sherlock asked, pulling John from his sleep with a blink.

“Hmm?” John asked, frowning sleepily.

“Those pants. When you're done?” Sherlock enquired.

John couldn't help but giggle, but nodded quickly to stop Sherlock thinking he was laughing at him, “Of course.”

Sherlock smiled, nuzzling into John before pulling the duvet around them, “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock.”


End file.
